Devil May Care
by gram-positive
Summary: One shot, post season 3. Poindexter has vanished, Matt Murdock has returned, and there's hope for a Nelson & Murdock & Page law firm. However, with the discovery that a figure from Matt's past has yet again risen from the grave, Karen finds herself compelled to contact her: Elektra Natchios, the last person she would have ever wished to see again.


**Author's Note: **This one shot is set several months after the conclusion of the Season 3. It's a short piece to tie up a few loose ends, and hopefully, provide these brilliant characters with some closure. Without further ado, here you go! Hope you like it!

* * *

Karen walked towards the edge of the rooftop, narrowing her eyes against the bright lights of the city that never sleeps. An apt name for a place where crime and anguish and life never stopped. Never stood still. Not even for a moment.

The snow crunched softly under her boots as she wrapped herself more securely in her parka. Snow fell silently from the clouds above, the pure white a stark contrast to the grit and grime of the world around her.

She was stalling. She knew it well enough as she watched the taxis track along the crowded streets before her, as she watched pedestrians meander through the sidewalks and alleyways, as she watched her breath materialize in clouds and disappear into the still air.

Karen closed her eyes, repeating her mantra over in her head. _He deserves to know. _She might not be good, but Matt was good. Matt deserved the _very best_ she could give him. And this, this was it.

After months of searching through old documents and newspapers, of calling up Ellison for any small scrap of news, she'd finally found it: tangible proof that Elektra Natchios was alive. After she'd know beyond a shadow of a doubt (and, considering the devastation caused by Daredevil's recent imposter, she wouldn't settle for anything less), there had only been on feasible option left. She had to contact her by any means necessary.

Karen took a deep breath, steeled her features, and turned to face the masked woman behind her.

She resisted the instinct to startle at her sudden presence. The rooftop had been empty when she'd stepped out onto, but she hadn't expected it to be for long. She'd stood there, exposed in the open, waiting for any sign of the other woman's approach. But, of course, there had been none. Only sirens and the pulse of the city broke the silence.

The woman, dressed in black and scarlet, certainly made an imposing figure. She was covered from the bridge her nose to her feet, but her arms were bare, displaying slight yet defined muscles occasionally marred by vivid scars. Distinct shadows across her back marked the edges of swords long enough— and sharp enough, Karen imagined— to sever a person in two. Despite her relaxed stance, Karen could tell instantly that this woman was dangerous. Perhaps, more dangerous even than even Wilson Fisk himself.

Yet, despite all of this, she had this air about her. Even with half her face masked and her dark hair pulled severely away from her face, Karen could tell she was beautiful. Stunning, really. _No wonder Matt liked her so much._ _A woman of beauty and steel, _Karen thought bitterly.

"I see you got my message," Karen said, shifting her weight slightly. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

For a heartbeat, the woman said nothing. Her deep brown eyes— bordering on black— studied Karen with an intensity that made her uneasy. She got the distinct feeling that she was being watched as a hawk might watch an unsuspecting field mouse scurry along the ground.

"To be honest, I wasn't sure that I would come either." Her voice was slightly muffled by the black fabric covering her mouth, but it was unmistakable. The refined British accent. The smug amusement. The hint of madness bordering every word. "But, then again, how could I resist? To see the famed Karen Page in action."

Karen shifted again, her uneasiness rising with every second that ticked by. She tucked a piece of blonde hair that had come loose in the wind behind her ear. "I didn't ask you here for me. I did it for Matt."

The woman didn't look at all fazed. In fact, Karen swore she could see her grinning behind her mask. "Naturally."

Karen felt her hackles rising, wrestling with her self control. "You're alive," she said flatly, "80 floors of steel and concrete fell on you, and you're alive."

The woman shrugged delicately. "One of this world's many miracles."

Karen glared at her, unamused. "Matt deserves to know."

"Mathew..." the woman said softly, as though contemplating one of mysteries of the universe. "Such a complicated man, isn't he? He deserves a great many things, but life doesn't always give us what we deserve, does it, Karen?"

Karen's blood ran hot with anger. The woman was toying with her. This was a game to her, a game she'd already won as far as she was concerned.

Karen looked out over Hell's Kitchen. Out over _her_ home, _Matt's _home. This woman was only a guest here. Perhaps she should be reminded of this.

Karen straightened her shoulders. "Elektra," she started, before pausing deliberately. She threw a glance over her shoulder at the other woman, her eyebrows raised. "It is _Elektra_, isn't it?" She didn't wait for her to answer before plowing ahead. "Elektra, you inserted yourself into Matt's life here in Hell's Kitchen. You insisted that he should take you back against his wishes and his better judgment. You rained down hell and fury on his life, brought the wrath of the Hand upon this entire city, and tried to kill him and those closest to him on multiple occasions. You succeeded in killing Stick, the man who raised not only him, but you as well and yet—," she gestured at the woman, "you're still here. And," Karen swallowed painfully, "he still loves you."

Elektra tilted her head, the only indication that she'd heard anything Karen said.

Karen sighed, breathing a cloud of mist into the cold, still air. "He deserves to know. He deserves to know that you're still alive." She said firmly, her eyes fixed on the woman in black and scarlet.

Elektra stared at her for what felt like an eternity. Karen stood her ground, unwavering. _He deserved to know._

Eventually, Elektra nodded.

Karen felt her shoulders sag with relief almost immediately as she watched the woman stride past her. Elektra stood recklessly close to the edge of the snowy rooftop, her eyes cataloging the skyline.

After a few minutes of silence, Karen turned to leave. As she trudged through the snow, a strange mixture of relief and sadness haunted her every step. Somehow, she had the sense that she was about to lose something precious forever and it would be at her own design.

"He may not have given himself the name Daredevil. But he accepted it." Elektra said, causing Karen to pause for a moment. "There's a darkness inside of him that he recognizes. He _let _me back in because he needs someone who will accept that darkness. Someone who will take him as he is without judgement or pain."

Karen felt her chest tighten.

When Elektra looked back at her, she had removed her mask. "He's no saint, Karen."

Karen paused. She took a heartbeat to study her nearly flawless face, feeling something caustic and shameful twist in her gut. She'd only ever seen the other woman a handful of times, the most memorable of which was in Matt's apartment. _In his bed, _taunted a cruel voice inside her head that sounded shockingly close to that of Wilson Fisk. _What place is this matter do you have, Miss Paige? Who even are you to Matt Murdock? _Continued the voice. Karen steeled her nerves, working to shut the voice of her frequent nightmares down.

"No, he's not," Karen said into darkness, "and neither am I. However, while this city doesn't need a saint, it doesn't need a killer either." Karen looked pointedly at the swords on Elektra's back. "This city needs a good person and a hero. Please don't rob it of either."

Karen turned on her heel, leaving Elektra to the night and to her words suspended in the cold air.

* * *

Minutes ticked by as the woman in black and scarlet stood upon the building's edge, more statue than human. To any passerby, she'd seem nothing more curious than a fixture of the old architecture.

The only sign of life that remained was her slow and steady breathing.

Eventually, a second figure stepped out from the shadows.

Elektra didn't so much as blink at the sudden arrival. She'd been expecting him. A small smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. "Darling, lovely to see you again."

A pained silence echoed in response.

Finally, "Elektra." His voice was gruff, wary and exhausted.

Elektra turned to look at the other roof's occupant. A man in all black. A mask was pulled low over his face, skimming his cheek bones and running down to the tip of his nose. Every inch of his figure was covered in an inky black with only his lips, jaw, and neck exposed. She'd heard the rumors. Daredevil had returned, only this time, he was killing innocents and protecting the sinners. The crimson devil, they'd said, stained red by blood of Hell's Kitchen.

Her eyes traced the length of his form, completely devoid of protective armor. Not a trace of red. Elektra had known beyond a doubt that Mathew had survived Midland Circle. She hadn't been certain, however, that Daredevil had. Now, looking upon this man in black, she had her answer.

"My spies told me you had returned," Elektra began without preamble, "The infamous devil of Hell's Kitchen refuses to die."

Silence was his response.

_Very well_. "My spies also informed me that another devil had descended upon New York City. A man torn apart by madness who was going to make Wilson Fisk seem a saint by comparison. A man with unbeatable skills and a deathly accurate bullseye centered squarely on Father Lantom, Foggy Nelson, and Karen Paige—"

"What do you want, Elektra?" Snapped Matt.

"You were following her over the rooftops." Elektra said smoothly. She watched Mathew stiffen, his discomfort written plainly in his stance. "Still keeping secrets, I see."

"She knows about Daredevil, the Defenders, the Hand … you," he said grudgingly, "I don't keep secrets from her anymore."

Elektra raised her eyebrows, accentuating the delicate plains of her face with false surprise. "No more secrets, Mathew? That doesn't sound like the man I knew."

"I'm not the same man anymore."

"So it would seem," she mused. Elektra turned back to the bustling life below. A city of lights, a city of sins. A city that so desperately needed its fallen angel again. She waited a heartbeat more. "So, she knows that you still love her?"

Elektra could almost hear his heart stumble, the breath abruptly sucked into his lungs, the panic rising in his soul. She smirked, not bothering to turn around. She had more pressing matters to deal with this evening than restarting Mathew's heart.

"After everything, we're … you're … that's none of your concern," Mathew sputtered out.

Elektra turned her eyes on Mathew, twisting at the waist to half face him. "Really? As you _heard_, Karen came here for you. She thinks you're still in love with me, and after that _kiss_, I really wouldn't blame you if you were." Elektra said, shrugging her delicate shoulders. "It really was a very good kiss."

She watched him blush, the crimson flaming along his bruised cheekbones. For a heartbeat, she wondered _maybe_, maybe she was wrong. "You could always come with me, you know. I could use someone to watch my back." She said softly.

He hesitated. But only for an instant. "I belong here, Elektra. Nothing will ever change that."

Elektra nodded. Another smile worked its way onto her face, this one slightly plaintive. "You should tell her, Mathew. Tell her how you feel before its too late. A woman like her won't wait forever, you know."

Mathew's shoulders drooped, resignation coloring his face. "I think that chance may have already passed. Lord knows, I don't deserve it." He said, bitterness and self-hatred coloring his voice.

Elektra smirked. Curious how closely these two self-burdened individuals mirrored each other. In the distance, a bright light winked at her for the third time that evening. Her cue to leave. She was late already, and the waiting parties would soon become impatient. She reached behind her, drawing an arcing sword from her back and into the light. It glinted crimson in the illuminations from the streets, a foreshadowing of the death to come.

She waited a heartbeat. "She deserves to know," she whispered, knowing he could hear her. Knowing that he'd heard everything.

With one refined motion, she leapt down from the ledge and into the night. 

**Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks!**


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